


Mole Town

by Sir_Bedevere



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daenerys Targaryan, the Rightful Queen, begs the pleasure of your company. Today.</p>
<p>Written for Stannis Fic Art Week!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mole Town

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt for Stannis FicArt Week: Queen Daenerys commanded Stannis to choose between death and taking the black. What would Stannis choose?
> 
> Like the other one, this was ready but computer fail means I have been stuck until now!

Winter may have finally been on the retreat but that did not mean that it was any warmer at the Wall. Devan hardly noticed the cold anymore, he was so used to it, but he knew that the older men of the Night’s Watch still suffered just as much, even after all the years they had been brothers. His father felt the cold terribly in his left hand, a perpetual throbbing in the stumps of his fingers that more than once had moved him to tears of pain. One of the Wildlings had made him a glove with complicated layers of fur and leather and it helped him a little, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing helped except milk of the poppy and more often than not, Father refused it. If he took it every time he was in pain, he said, he would never be awake. He might as well be dead, he said.  
Devan worried about him but there was nothing he could do. The Wall was their home now. If they left it, they would be deserters. It was as simple as that. 

_The Dragon Queen had come to Westeros and defeated the pretender, the boy who claimed to be her nephew, and then she had turned her sights north. After the Battle of Winterfell, Lord Stannis had returned to the Wall with the full force of the North behind him, the men that Devan’s father had bought with his rescue of their liege lord, Rickon Stark._

_Lord Stannis sent his wife and his daughter away soon after that, when it became clear that the full force of the North would not be enough to hold the White Walkers back. Father had told him, eventually, where he had sent Edric Storm and Andrew Estermont. The Queen and the princess were sent to join them, delivered to their new home in Essos by Ser Justin Massey, the man that Lord Stannis trusted most after Father. Devan remembered crying when the princess left, hiding in his room so that no one would laugh at him. She wouldn’t have minded, he knew, because she had been crying too as she was led away._

_They waited then, waited for the White Walkers and waited for the Dragon Queen and waited for their fates to catch up with them at last. The first sign that she was arrived came when a dragon, a black, leathery monster, swept along the length of the Wall and cried out, a sound that Devan did not think he would ever forget. The Wildlings took cover, cursing in their strange tongues, and the Black Brothers prayed to their gods and Lord Stannis stood, his eyes turned upwards and his jaw set. Devan, who prided himself on knowing his lord, on knowing his moods, could not tell what he was thinking. The dragon flew back one more time and then disappeared, back towards Mole Town._

_The Wall was quiet that night, quieter than usual. Lord Stannis was still a king then, but Devan heard the whispers in the night, that the Dragon Queen was the rightful heir to the throne and what would Lord Stannis do now? What would his sense of duty lead him to do? Would he talk with her? Would she kill him? Would he lead them all into a battle on two fronts, with the White Walkers on one side and the dragons on the other?_

_In the morning, the messenger came. He was a bear of a man, tall and broad, with a brand in the shape of a demon on his cheek. The guards let him through and Devan, in the yard, heard the first murmurs from the Northmen. They knew this man._

_“Jorah bloody Mormont,” the Greatjon said, “Gods save us, are the dead walking among us now?”_

_The stranger did not bow his head, Devan noticed. He walked tall and proud, through the muttering crowd and asked to be taken to Lord Stannis Baratheon, the pretender to the Iron Throne. Devan stepped forward to lead him to the Lord Commander’s Tower, where his king waited._

_“Tell me, boy,” Jorah Mormont asked, as they began to climb the steps, “Does my appearance frighten you?_

_“No.”_

_The man chuckled, “You’re a brave soul. What is your name?”_

_“Devan Seaworth.”_

_“Seaworth…surely you are not the son of Davos Seaworth, Lord Stannis’ shadow?”_

_“Lord Davos Seaworth, the Hand of the King,” Devan said shortly, turning at the top of the stairs and indicating the door. He was pleased to see a look of surprise on the man’s face._

_“Enter,” came the curt reply when Devan knocked on the door. He led the man inside and saw that both Lord Stannis and his father recognised him._

_“Ser Jorah Mormont,” Lord Stannis narrowed his eyes, “Exile has not treated you well.”_

_“I would not be so sure, my lord. I come to you as Lord Jorah Mormont, the Hand of the Queen.”_

_Devan saw Father raise his eyebrows but he said nothing. He wondered what this Mormont had done to be exiled and he wondered how he had come to meet the Dragon Queen._

_“I assume you have some message for me,” Lord Stannis said, holding out his hand for a letter or a parchment._

_“I do, my lord. It is not written. It is a very simple one. Daenerys Targaryan, the Rightful Queen, begs the pleasure of your company. Today.”_

_There was a beat of silence as the only noise was Lord Stannis grinding his teeth and then he nodded._

_“I will come. This afternoon.”_

_Mormont nodded and seemed to be satisfied, because he turned to Devan and inclined his head, ever so slightly._

_“Perhaps you would like to escort me to the gate, young Seaworth.”_

_That afternoon, Lord Stannis, Father, Devan and a dozen men mounted their horses and rode out of the gate. Jon Snow, leaning heavily on his walking stick, was left in command in their absence. It was freezing out here, away from the warmth of the fires at the Wall and Devan huddled deeper into his cloak. None of the men were talking and he did not dare break the silence to speak to his father. He realised that this was perhaps the most important journey he would ever make. Mormont had not told them what the queen wanted to discuss but it was clear nonetheless. It was time to argue for the Iron Throne itself._

_She had established a base in Mole Town and brightly coloured tents were scattered among the squat buildings. There were not enough tents to house an army. She had obviously come with a small party, to test Lord Stannis before she made her move. Jorah Mormont came to meet them, bowing politely when they dismounted._

_“Perhaps your guard would like to shelter near the fire,” he asked Lord Stannis, pointing to a tent that was nearby, “Dragons do have their uses, my lord.”_

_Lord Stannis was not a cruel man. He would not make his men stand outside in the freezing weather. He nodded sharply, and then he, Father and Devan followed Mormont into the largest tent._

_A small, young woman with white blonde hair was curled in a large chair that had been placed close to a merry fire. She was wrapped in furs and did not stand at their entrance. A girl with the look of Essos about her, perhaps a year younger than Devan, was similarly clad and sat at the woman’s feet. Next to them, an old man with white hair was sat on another chair. He looked ill but he watched them with sharp blue eyes. Devan thought that he recognised the old man and he definitely recognised the last occupant of the tent – Tyrion Lannister, who was grinning but who was, for once, silent. It was a strange collection, that was to be sure._

_“Barristan Selmy,” Lord Stannis shook his head, “Tyrion Lannister. Jorah Mormont. You have a talent, my lady, for finding those who others had believed lost.”_

_The woman smiled but she did not speak, not for a moment. She gazed at them all with purple eyes that burned in the firelight. She was so beautiful and Devan felt himself blushing under her scrutiny. The five people before them were dressed well. They looked well fed and they were warm and they were perfectly in control. Devan knew that they made a poor comparison. All three of them were semi-starved and their faces were peeling and red from the cold winds that never let up. They did not wear enough clothing and their boots were falling apart. When he dared to look at the woman once more, he did not see rage or mockery on her face._

_He saw pity._

_“I did not come here to debate with you, Lord Baratheon,” she said suddenly, “I have defeated the Lannisters and their dogs. I have crushed the pretender, the boy who claimed he was of my blood. I am told now that there are two forces here in the North. You. And the White Walkers. Which of you must I do battle with?”_

_Devan dared to glance at his king’s face and saw that he was staring at the woman, his blue eyes flashing. He did not understand her words._

_“My lady-”_

_“It is very simple, Lord Baratheon,” she said, “If you will accept my claim to the throne, deny your own and join with me and fight back these White Walkers, I will let you live. I will let your men live. You will live out your days as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and your men as Black Brothers or in exile. I will let you live, if you join me now.”_

_“And if I don’t.”_

_“Then I will crush you like I did my ‘nephew’ and his band of filthy sellswords. You will die and your men will die and I will still sit the Iron Throne.”_

_“Come my lord,” Tyrion Lannister piped up, “You are an intelligent man. You know what you must do.”_

_If Lord Stannis heard the Imp, he did not act like he did. He was looking down at the floor, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides, his teeth grinding. Devan risked a glance at his father’s face and saw that he had his eyes closed. The silence was palpable. Devan looked at the Queen and found she was watching him. The pity was there again._

_“You have been so strong, Lord Baratheon,” she spoke gently, as though to a child, “You have been so strong and you have defended my kingdom and I do not wish to see you dead. You share my blood, I know. We are cousins. We are family. Join with me to defeat these devils and you may live. You and your men. You will live.”_

_Three chairs had been laid out for them but they had not taken them when they came in. Now though, Lord Stannis moved slowly and sank into one of them. It was not much of a show of weakness but from Lord Stannis, it was like falling to his knees before her._

_He was tired, Devan knew. He was so, so tired._

_Devan was not invited to the talks Lord Stannis had with his father or his most trusted knights, but one day soon after the armies of Westeros united under the Dragon Queen’s banner and Lord Stannis’ men were among them._

_The day before it, before the final battle, Lord Stannis had looked at him thoughtfully and picked up his sword._

_“Kneel, boy.”_

_Devan was knighted, aged thirteen, on the eve of the battle that would determine the fate of Westeros._

_“If you die tomorrow, Ser Devan Seaworth,” Lord Stannis said gruffly, “Let it be as a man. You have earned that much.”_

_Devan did not remember much of that final battle._

_They were in the vanguard as men who knew the ground and knew the enemy a little better than the others, and they were accompanied by the Queen who flew a green dragon and went rushing before them as though she could protect them. He remembered how, just before, his father had gripped his hand and whispered that he loved him. He remembered that his dragonglass blade felt strange in his hand but that once he had cut down one White Walker with it, the swing became a little easier and he found his rhythm._

_He remembered seeing his father and his king like men possessed, like he had never seen them before and he remembered realising that none of them – himself included – had anything to lose anymore. The Wall or a brave man’s death. They were all the same thing really. They both came down to the same thing – none of their lives were theirs anymore. With that thought, he had thrown himself recklessly into the foray and when the blow came, he almost welcomed it.  
Devan came round in the Lord Commander’s tower the day after the battle, his father sleeping by his bedside. Father had a deep cut on his forehead but apart from that he was unhurt and, aside from the headache, Devan was also quite well. It had all been so simple after that; King Stannis became Lord Stannis again and his men were given the choice. Many chose to stay with them, men like Ser Justin Massey, although a few left to try their luck in Essos. Father never even asked Devan what he wanted to do. It was always that obvious, for the both of them. _

_The Dragon Queen appointed Lord Stannis the new Lord Commander, just as she had promised. A few famous names joined them from the other houses of Westeros – Jaime Lannister, Brynden Tully, a few of the Freys who had not wished to join their lord’s deception. A young Karstark, some lesser Lannister and Tyrell bannermen. The Night’s Watch no longer had to fear the Wildlings, peace having been made, but no one dared to dismiss the threat of the White Walkers, not when they had all seen what had come out of the darkness the last time they all looked away._

Devan walked across the yard where Jaime Lannister and Brynden Tully were putting the new recruits through their paces.

“Sword up, boy!” Jaime called to the youngster who was trying valiantly to defend himself against the Blackfish, “Sword up or he’ll have your belly open!”

He turned then and saw Devan watching them, and waved at him.

“Ser Devan, come and show these boys how it is done.”

Jaime Lannister was one of the best at training the recruits but he had refused to pick up a sword since the day he was sworn in as a brother. Devan rolled his eyes and went over to them. The trembling boy handed him his blunt training sword and Devan turned to face Brynden. 

“Now watch closely,” Jaime said, sounding almost bored. 

The Blackfish was slower than he used to be but as he had once been faster than any normal man, that did not mean very much. Devan circled him and threw his sword up in defence when the other man lunged at him. He would never be as good a swordsman as Brynden Tully but he had trained with him for a long time and he knew his tricks. It did not take him long to have the sword from his hand and the Blackfish on his back.

“You’re getting better every day, lad,” Brynden said proudly, taking the hand Devan offered him and pulling himself up, “Better every day.”

“I’ve had a good teacher,” Devan shrugged, “Can I go now?”

Jaime was already talking to the small knot of boys, explaining what Devan had done, and Brynden nodded. They made a strange pair, the Lion and the Blackfish, but they had an odd sort of affection for one another, slow in the making but strong. Once, when he was drunk, Jaime had said Brynden Tully was a better father to him than his own had ever been. 

Devan slipped away and into the Lord Commander’s tower. At this early hour Lord Stannis would be having breakfast and Father was probably with him. Even after all those years, they were rarely parted. 

Sure enough, they were sat at the table when Devan knocked politely on the door and let himself in. Lord Stannis was drinking something from a steaming cup and Father was bent over a piece of paper, reading slowly. His lips still moved when he read and Devan wondered if it was more from habit nowadays than from the actual need to do so.

“Sit,” Lord Stannis said, “Have some breakfast. I doubt you have yet.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Devan helped himself to a hot bread roll and glanced at his father. Lord Stannis was also watching him intently and Devan wondered what was on the paper. There was a small unopened stack of letters between them on the table and some broken wax, so it was probably a letter. Lord Stannis had already read it, he could tell, and then handed it to Father. 

Eventually, Father looked up.

“Well, that is a surprise.”

“Indeed,” Lord Stannis ground out from between his teeth, “I only wish she had given me more notice.”

Devan looked between them, waiting, and eventually they seemed to remember he was there. His father handed him the letter so he could read it for himself. It was short and to the point.

_Dear Father,_  
I hope that you are still well, as you wrote in your last letter, and I hope that Ser Davos and Devan are well also. I trust you would tell me if they were not.  
I have been thinking about you all even more than usual and I have decided that the time has come to make you a visit. Andrew thinks it will be good for me and Edric has said he will come with me. Mother does not approve but she also said that if I wish it, I may come. I feel I have to. It has been too long and sometimes I find it hard to convince myself that any of you are real. If Devan did not write to me as often as he did, I do not think I would believe it.   
I will send you a raven when we reach Eastwatch-By-The-Sea and from there it will only be a few days and we will be together.  
I am looking forwards to seeing all of you again.  
With love,  
Shireen. 

Devan could not contain the smile that threatened as he read her words nor the feeling of joy that crawled into his belly.

She was coming back. She was really coming back. 

Oftentimes, when he read a letter from her, he used to have a stab of guilt because he missed her more than he had ever missed any of his brothers. It had taken a long time for him to realise that he was allowed to miss her; she was still living after all, and parted from him. He missed his brothers, of course he did, but Shireen was his best friend and had been for as long as he had known her. When he missed his brothers, there was an ache. When he missed Shireen, there was a stab of something sharp. 

“Are you not pleased, my lord?” Devan said, trying to read Lord Stannis’ face.

“I am pleased to be seeing her again,” the Lord Commander said, his hands straying to the bread on his plate and beginning to shred it, “I do not entirely believe Westeros is safe for her.”

“She will not stay for long,” Father said soothingly, “And I shall be pleased to see her as well, my lord. As will Devan.”

Lord Stannis turned his dark eyes on him and nodded slowly, “Yes, I suspected as much.”

He stared for a moment longer and Devan shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze. Lord Stannis had a way of staring as though he could see into your mind and disapproved of what he found there, and Devan had never quite got used to it. Father was much better at it, although not always. 

“Warn Edd that my daughter is coming and bringing at least one attendant, although probably two. She will have a maid. Have him prepare quarters that are suitable. If there are not enough suitable quarters, my nephew can share with you, Ser Devan. I remember you were close friends as boys.”

“Yes, my lord,” Devan bowed his head and scrambled out of his seat, “Is there anything else?”

“No. You are no longer my page or my squire, Ser Devan. Sometimes I believe you forget that.”

“Yes, my lord,” Devan smiled secretly to himself as he left the room. Truth be told, Lord Stannis seemed to forget it far more often than Devan himself did. Devan didn’t mind though, especially now. They were alive. They were warm. They ate every day, there was no more fighting and now, Shireen was coming home. 

Sometimes, when he tried to remember those last days of terror and confusion, he forgot that Lord Stannis was ever supposed to have lost the war.


End file.
